Ralph Compton Brimstone Trail (9781101612637) Read online

  “Maybe less.”

  “That’s too much time wasted. You need someone to go now, and those young men you deputized aren’t up to the task.”

  “And you are?” the lawman scoffed. “Just stay somewhere it’s safe and I’ll let you have a word with Terrigan once I bring him in.”

  “You’ll bring him in alive, then?”

  “If I can,” Noss replied. “But I wouldn’t hold your breath. From what I’ve heard about this one, he ain’t exactly the sort who comes along quietly. You have my word that I won’t put him down unless he leaves me no other choice. That good enough for you, Father?”

  There were times when Paul felt as spry as a man in his prime. Although his prime years were behind him, he wasn’t an old man either. If he let his whiskers grow long enough, a few strands of gray might be seen, but at least they would cover the wrinkles that had become etched into his face over the last few years. There were times, however, when he felt every day of every one of those years as if they were kindling piled onto his shoulders and he was forced to carry it all from one end of the day to the other. Listening to the coddling tone in the lawman’s voice, knowing he had to swallow it down and act as if he liked it, Paul felt like the helpless old man he feared he might someday become.

  “I can help you find him,” Paul said before he could stop himself.

  Showing him a patronizing smile while patting his shoulder, Noss said, “It sure is good of you to offer, but Terrigan probably doesn’t even know his boys are hurt. Odds are, he’s thinking they’re wetting their whistles at a saloon or keeping company with one of the working girls here in town before getting down to their business. By the time he suspects anything and decides to ride in to do anything about it, my men and I will be surrounding his camp.”

  “So you know where Terrigan is making camp?”

  “Not just yet, but it shouldn’t be hard to find. Since we’ll be catching him by surprise, it should be even easier.”

  “You might want to take Mr. Sprole with you, then,” Paul said. “He seems quite skilled.”

  “Actually, I was thinking about that very thing.”

  “You were?”

  Instead of patting Paul on the back, Sheriff Noss gave it a heartfelt slap. “And it does me good to put a surprised look onto the face of a man like you! Yes, I was going to ask if Sprole wanted to come along with me, but I doubt he would think the offer was anything more than me trying to keep an eye on him.”

  “Is it?”

  “I’m a lawman, Father. I keep the peace. That’s always been my strong suit. At their root, bounty hunters are trackers. It’s what they do best. Between the two of us, I’d say we got a pretty good chance at finding Terrigan and bringing him home in time for breakfast. Also, I sure don’t want him getting close to that gunman with the wounded hand. My deputies are on short supply, and frankly I think you’re right about there not being enough time to organize a posse from the men in town. That means your Mr. Sprole is a natural choice.”

  “I still think I should go with you.”

  “Tell you what,” Noss said in a resigned tone. “I have every intention of bringing Terrigan back alive. If I’m going through all this trouble, I want to make sure there ain’t more members of his gang out there waiting to undo everything that gets done. Soon as I do bring him in, you’ll be the first one to have a chat with him. All right?”

  Paul wasn’t a stupid man. After the time he’d spent in the professions he’d chosen throughout his life, he’d become adept at reading people’s faces and gauging the sorts of things going through their minds. He would never profess to reading anyone’s thoughts, but he could get a general feel for what was going on between their ears. Most of what the lawman told him was true. More than anything, however, the sheriff was just trying to get Paul to stop talking and leave him alone. Not a big surprise, actually, since he did have a lot of work to do. To that end, Paul nodded and said, “I’m sure you’ve got this well in hand. Probably best if I just leave you to it.”

  “Glad to see we’re reading from the same page, Father. Now, if you don’t mind, I’ve got a posse to organize.” The lawman had started walking back toward his office when he stopped and turned partway around so he could say, “There is something you could do for me. You spent some time with Dave Sprole. You think you could help grease the wheels where getting him onto my posse is concerned?”

  “I don’t really—”

  “Tell him there’ll be a fee for his service and that he should meet me at the stable just down the street from my office in an hour. I’ve got to get a few things in place before we leave. Thanks, Father.”

  And then the sheriff was gone. Noss strode down the street at a pace that made it clear he would make it difficult for anyone wanting to catch up to him. Knowing the lawman would only speed up or cut through an alley if he knew he was being followed, Paul didn’t bother trying. Instead, he walked back to the sheriff’s office, where he found Sprole standing outside smoking a cheroot.

  “You’re still here?” Paul asked.

  Sprole nodded and patted his empty holster. “Ain’t about to leave without my guns. What’s your excuse?”

  “The sheriff is forming a posse to go after Terrigan. He wanted to know if—”

  Grabbing the cheroot and holding it almost tight enough to crush it, Sprole said, “You need to get me on that posse. It would be better if it came from you because you already know him and . . . well . . . he trusts you. I’d ask him, but he’d probably just think I was trying to get my guns back or that I might try some sort of double cross, even though that wouldn’t get me anywhere. Just see what you can do for me, will you?”

  Paul had earned a mighty good reputation for mediating between people who couldn’t see eye to eye. Whether those people were parents and children, husbands and wives, or neighbors or siblings, bridging gaps between folks was a major portion of any preacher’s duties. Rather than show the bounty hunter how similar he and the lawman truly were, Paul took a more self-serving route by sighing and telling Sprole, “The posse will be meeting in an hour at the stable right down the street from here. I’ll go have a word with the sheriff to convince him to let you ride along with him. Just be at that stable and don’t give any of the others a hard time.”

  Clamping the cheroot between his teeth, Sprole grinned around the narrow cigar and vigorously shook Paul’s hand. “I owe you one, preacher.”

  “That’s right, you do. Just don’t forget it.”

  After Sprole turned and marched back into the office, Paul retraced his steps to Doc Chandler’s place. In the short time it took for him to get there, he could feel an excitement crackling through the air. Word was spreading about the shoot-out at the hotel, the bodies being prepared at the undertaker’s parlor, and the steps that the sheriff might or might not be taking to answer back for all that had happened. Looks were being cast at Paul as well, most of which were wary or surprised. While the lawmen and even the bounty hunter had done what was expected of them, the preacher wasn’t playing his accepted role.

  The people of Pueblito Verde were looking at their preacher in a different light. That wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, but it wasn’t altogether good. After all the work he’d done to sink roots into the little community so he could go about his tasks in peace, Paul felt more uncomfortable with every boisterous word of praise he received. By the time he got back to the doctor’s office, he was glad to shut the door behind him.

  Dr. Chandler was at his desk across from his only patient. When he saw Paul, he stood up and crossed the room to meet him. “What brings you back so soon?” Chandler asked.

  Paul looked over to the gunman. “Is he awake?”

  “I don’t think so. He’s either still out or playing possum. Either way, I can’t blame him. Sheriff Noss knocked him pretty good. He needs his rest, so I wasn’t about
to try and wake him up. Was there something else you needed?”

  “No. I thought I could keep an eye on him.”

  “Shouldn’t one of the deputies be doing that?” Chandler asked.

  “One probably will. A posse is being organized and a guard will be assigned.”

  The doctor let out a breath. “That’s a relief. I know he’s shackled and all, but it makes me a little nervous having a dangerous outlaw here who’ll be awake and raring to go before too long.”

  “Well, I’ll be here to lend a hand until a deputy gets here.” With that, Paul pulled up a chair and sat down beside the outlaw’s bed. Once the doctor stepped outside, Paul said, “I know you’re awake.”

  The gunman sat up fast enough to rattle the chains connecting his arm and leg to the cot’s frame. “What do you want?”

  “I’m here to listen to what you have to say.”

  “Like what? A confession?”

  “If you’d like.”

  “I got nothin’ to say to you,” the younger man growled.

  Paul settled into his chair. “Then you shouldn’t mind if I ask you a few questions.”

  Chapter 7

  The posse consisted of four men. It was late afternoon when they broke into two pairs and rode out of town. Sheriff Noss insisted on partnering with Dave Sprole so he could keep an eye on the bounty hunter, and they rode toward a rocky stretch of trail to the south. Two of the sheriff’s deputies hung back for a while and then took a wider trail to the north. The idea was to sneak at least one of the pairs past any lookouts that might have been posted by the outlaw gang to keep watch for riders leaving Pueblito Verde.

  When Sprole and the sheriff rode away from town, both were ready to be ambushed at any moment. There wasn’t any reason to believe the outlaws were poised to bushwhack anyone so quickly, but the anticipation of forming the posse and putting together a strategy for capturing a man as dangerous as Jack Terrigan put all of the men on edge. After a few hours of riding with nothing but dust in their teeth to show for it, that edge was dulled a bit.

  “How much farther should we go before doubling back to check on your deputies?” Sprole asked.

  Noss shook his head while letting his eyes wander along the horizon. He shifted in his saddle and looked along the other horizon while saying, “I thought for sure we would have found them by now.”

  “How? By riding out and waiting for them to jump us? I’m glad I didn’t know that was your only plan when I signed on.”

  “Well, you’re the tracker!” Noss shot back. “Where are all of your great ideas for hunting him down?”

  “It’s not like I can just lift my nose to the wind and sniff him out! There’s more to it than that, and you should have let me do this my way if you wanted it done right. When the four of us met at the stable, I told you we should have done it properly.”

  “There isn’t time for that!” Noss replied. “We had to ride out while we still had surprise on our side. If someone was watching the trails leading from town, this was the trail they would most likely have been watching. There’s plenty of higher vantage points up in them rocks,” he said while sweeping his hand toward an outcropping to one side of the trail. “I know this terrain better than anyone, and we’ve already ridden past every good spot someone could have made camp.”

  “Well, maybe Terrigan don’t know this territory as good as you do,” Sprole pointed out. “Could be he and his gang just picked the first spot they found. Or maybe they came in from the north.”

  “That’s why I brought you along! You’ve been tracking this killer for so long, why couldn’t you tell me which direction he was coming from?”

  A rifle cracked somewhere in the distance. The sound of the shot was faint compared to the hiss in Sprole’s ear as the bullet whipped past his head. Finely honed instinct brought his hand down to the pistol at his side so he could draw the .44 that he’d been entrusted with as part of riding on the posse. Unfortunately, he didn’t have a target.

  Sheriff Noss reacted in a similar manner, but drew his rifle from the boot of his saddle instead of the pistol strapped to his hip. “High and to the right,” he shouted while levering a round into the rifle’s chamber.

  Following the directions he’d been given, Sprole sighted along the top of his pistol until he picked out the bump at the top of a rock outcropping that could have been the silhouette of a man’s head. When he saw the sunlight glint off a rifle’s barrel, the bounty hunter fired a shot up at the rocks. Knowing he was too far away to put the pistol to its best use, he told the lawman, “Try to keep him pinned down. I’ll get around behind him.”

  The sheriff nodded before taking aim and squeezing his trigger. The sound of that shot mingled with the pounding of hooves as Sprole rode down the trail toward a spot where he could steer off the path to circle around the back of the outcropping. Trees that grew in a territory containing so much rugged terrain were tougher than ones found in thick Oregon forests or even at the foot of the Rocky Mountains. The crooked trees blocking Sprole’s line of sight as well as his horse’s progress barely swayed in any breeze, and they withstood the shots that were fired back and forth with a minimum of bark flying from their trunks when hit. Brushing against one of them as he urged his horse to ascend the rocky slope, Sprole felt unforgiving wooden claws scrape at his shoulders and arms. A few branches even slashed his cheek when he attempted to navigate the shortest route to the rifleman’s hiding spot.

  Fortunately, those trees were just as much of a hindrance to the sharpshooter. After one more shot that clipped a thick branch without severing it, the man at the top of the outcropping swore loudly and began scrambling down another part of the slope.

  “He’s on his way down!” Sprole shouted, hoping the sheriff was able to hear him. “There’s gotta be a horse tied somewhere nearby!”

  Through the trees, Sprole could see a narrow figure making his way down the slope. He fired one shot that was too rushed to hit much of anything and another that might have come within a few inches of its target. The sharpshooter was a gaunt man with a pale face covered in dirt. The rifle he brought to his shoulder was a Winchester, and he squeezed off a round that whipped through the branches between them to graze not only the bounty hunter’s leg but the horseflesh pressed against it. Sprole let out a pained grunt as his horse twisted around to reflexively move away from the source of its pain.

  Sprole fired his last round wildly as the world teetered crazily around him. He tried to maintain a grip on his reins, but the horse was already skidding down the slope. Even if he managed to stay in his saddle, Sprole knew he could still be in a world of trouble.

  The horse whinnied and fought to keep its footing. Its rider cut his losses and launched himself from the saddle at his first opportunity. It might not have been the most favorable option, but Sprole preferred to take his chances with gravity and a hard landing than gambling that his horse wouldn’t crush him beneath its weight. While the horse might have been moving awkwardly, it hadn’t built up much steam and Sprole was able to swing his leg up and over its back so he could jump toward a patch of ground covered in coarse grass near the base of the slope. From there, he could see Sheriff Noss charging around the other side of the rise just in time to meet the sharpshooter.

  Sprole might not have broken anything on his landing, but he did end up on his back with most of the wind knocked from his lungs. He kept his eyes on the other two men while his hands rushed through the familiar motions of reloading his pistol.

  “Stop where you are and toss that rifle!” Noss shouted.

  The man with the rifle fired a quick shot before retreating into the sparse trees along the side of the slope. Noss wasn’t about to let him get to cover and pressed his advantage by snapping his reins to catch up to him. Before the sharpshooter got very far, the sheriff was on him. Noss fired once, forcing his tar
get to change direction, and then brought his horse around to cut him off as he exploded from the trees.

  Thundering around to get in front of the fleeing man, Noss reined his horse to a stop and pointed his rifle down at him. “I said toss that gun, mister!” he roared.

  The skinny man’s narrow shoulders rose and fell with every labored breath. Although he must have had plenty of heat in his furnace, he did as he was told and tossed the rifle.

  “That’s good,” Noss said while climbing down from his saddle. “On your knees.”

  The rifleman did that as well and even clasped his hands on top of his head before he was asked to do so.

  Holding his rifle to his shoulder, Sheriff Noss glanced over to the bounty hunter and asked, “You all right?”

  “Just a little bruised,” Sprole replied. “Be there in a second.”

  Focusing on his prisoner as he walked toward him, Noss asked, “What’s your name, boy?”

  The sharpshooter lowered his head as if every bit of fight chose that moment to leave him.

  Sprole got to his feet and approached the other two. He’d barely taken two steps when the prisoner surged into motion.

  The instant Noss was close enough, the man on his knees looked up and reached out to grab the barrel of the sheriff’s rifle with both hands. He twisted the rifle, causing Noss’s finger to become trapped beneath the trigger guard. When both men struggled for possession of the weapon, a shot was accidentally fired that thumped into the ground several yards away from either of them. The sharpshooter got one foot beneath him and then rose to stand on both, all while he continued twisting the rifle to bend Noss’s fingers and elbow in the wrong direction to drive the sheriff to his knees.

  “Hold it right there!” Sprole shouted. “Put your hands up or I’ll shoot!”

  But the sharpshooter was already committed to his course of action. One more vicious tug was all it took to wrest the rifle from the sheriff’s hands. He levered in a fresh round and fired it in Sprole’s direction, forcing the bounty hunter to dive to one side. Making sure to keep the sheriff between him and Sprole, the sharpshooter ran over to the lawman’s horse and jumped into the saddle so he could pound both heels against its sides. The horse kicked up a cloud of dust as it raced away from the slope to a small cluster of nearby trees.